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aren’t.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The pharmacist is refusing to leave her house.’
    ‘Is the city dangerous?’ Leo demanded, looking up from the newspaper.
    ‘No,’ said my mother. ‘It will be fine. We’ll go to Mass.’
    Leo caught hold of her arm. ‘Maybe we should not …’
    ‘We are going to Mass,’ she said.
    As if in answer, the church bell began to chime. ‘Jasmine, get your shawl,’ my mother said. ‘Leo, Anselm, put on your boots.’
    Leo looked as if he would argue, but he did not. He just went and got his boots in silence.
    ‘I dare say there is nothing to fear,’ said Mr Pascal. He sighed, refolded the newspaper, and got up to leave. He was not religious and neither was Michael, but the rest of us set out. Leo kept a firm hold of Jasmine’s hand all the way down Trader’s Row. He did not need to; the city was deserted. There was no sign that anyone had been marching in the streets the night before. And yet I had never seen it so quiet either.
    My grandmother was waiting for us at the church door. The sun had risen just high enough to cross the roofs of thehouses, and a few birds were hopping about in the dust. The fountain was the only sound in the empty square. Jasmine broke free of Leo’s hand and ran over to the edge of the pool. The horse statue was broken; it had never recovered from the revolution, and now the water sprayed only intermittently from its mouth, making arcs in the still air. A few people were hurrying through the church doorway. ‘Come along,’ said my grandmother, and we followed her. The church was half empty.
    ‘Papa, you keep yawning,’ Jasmine whispered as we stood side by side in the pew. She elbowed Leo, and he started and raised his hymn book higher. My mother smiled at that. The light fell through the stained-glass window in rays and carved deep lines in the corners of the priest’s face. Father Dunstan was not much older than my mother and Leo, but he looked like an elderly and distinguished man as he proclaimed the Gospel. I could not concentrate. My eyes were aching with too little sleep. I watched the dust spiral in the rays of light. My grandmother listened tensely to every word, as though she would be examined afterwards, and every time I looked away, she nudged my shoulder hard and tutted. By the time the service finished, my shoulder was aching from it.
    After the service, my mother went to speak to Father Dunstan, and Jasmine dragged me out into the square. ‘Watch me!’ she said, scrambling onto the edge of the fountain and running in circles with her arms outstretched. I watched, but I was thinking of other things. The city had come out of its silence at last. People passed occasionally, in their best clothes or in rags as their luck decreed. There were even a few wealthy couples in open carriages. ‘Is Grandmama coming for Sunday dinner today?’Jasmine demanded, coming to a halt in front of me.
    ‘Yes,’ said Leo. ‘Apparently she won’t be dissuaded.’
    He had come up beside us without my noticing. His face was colourless from lack of sleep; it made his grey eyes darker and more piercing.
    ‘Papa!’ said Jasmine, and leaped into his arms. He caught her and set her down.
    ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We should start for the graveyard.’
    We went every week after Mass. Half our family was buried there – Grandmother Margaret, and Grandpa Julian, and Leo’s brother Stirling. Aldebaran’s grave was a mass of flowers that Sunday. We left shilling bouquets on each of their graves and stood for a long time at the end of Stirling’s while Leo studied the worn inscription.
    ‘Did you know?’ Jasmine said, tugging my sleeve. ‘Did you know, Anselm?’
    ‘Did I know what?’
    ‘Stirling is twenty-four.’
    ‘Yes,’ I said.
    Stirling had died when I was still a tiny baby, and now he had been gone twice as long as he had ever lived. Leo stood on the end of the grave for a long time without speaking. ‘Come along, Leonard,’ said my grandmother